JfcGHGB 
of'YOVTH 


ntfru^ 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


A   GAGE  <?/  YOUTH 


A  GAGE  */ YOUTH 

LTRICS  from  The  LARK 
and  other  POEMS 

By  GELETT  BURGESS 

Formerly  EDITOR  of  The  LARK 

AUTHOR  of  V1VETTE 

Etc.       Etc. 


BOSTON  :    Published    by     SMALL 
MAYNARD  fcf  COMPANY:   MCMI 


COPYRIGHT  by  GELETT  BURGESS 
1901 

Entered  at  Stationers^  Hall 


To 
F.  K.  P. 


« Then  let  them  love  that  list,  or  live  or  die, 

Me  list  not  die  for  any  lover's  doole; 
Ne  list  me  leave  my  loved  libertie 

To  pity  him  that  list  to  play  the  foole!" 

The  ¥  aerie  Queene. 


VI 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Gage  of  Youth       .....  i 
SET   FORMS 

Ballade  of  Conceit      .....  3 

Ballade  of  the  Cognoscenti            ...  4 

Ballade  of  Fog  in  the  Canon         ...  5 

Ballade  of  the  Devil-May-Care    ...  6 

Ballade  of  Dreams  Transposed     ...  7 

Rondeau:  Oh,  in  My  Dreams  I  Flew!  .          .  8 

Virelai  of  the  Witching  Sea          ...  9 

Villanelle  of  Things  Amusing      .          .          .  10 

Villanelle:  Valentine  to  My  Mother       .          .  n 

Sonnet:   Epithalamium  in  a  Surrey  Garden     .  12 

Sonnet:   Christmas  in  Town          .          .          .  13 

Triolet  for  Grace's  Birthday          .          .          .  14 

Pantoum:  The  Merry  Midnight  .          .           .  15 

Rondel  of  Perfect  Friendship        .          .          .  16 

Rondeau  Redoublee:  A  Daughter  of  the  North  17 

Chant-Royal  of  the  True  Romance       .          .  18 

Chant-Royal  of  California  .          .          .          .  20 

Sestina  of  Youth  and  Age  .          .          .          .  22 

Neuvain  for  April       .          .          .          .          .  24 

LYRICS  and  BALLADS 

Helen's  Face  a  Book  .          .          .          .          .  25 

Karma      .          .           .          .          .          .          .  26 

The  Isle  of  Idleness 27 

Helen's  Foolishness     .          .          .          .          .  28 

The  Debatable  Ground        .          .          .          .  29 

The  Butterfly's  Madrigal     .          .          .          .  30 

'  T  was  Ever  a  Man  and  a  Maid  .          .          .  31 

Song  for  Sylvia's  Lips           .          .          .          .  32 

I  Dare  not  Tell  how  Fair  Thou  Art      .          .  33 

Bravado     .......  34 

A  Boy's  Will               .  35 


VII 


LYRICS  ««^  BALLADS  (Continued) 

Youth's  Legacy  ..... 

Childhood 

The  Game  of  Life      .          .          . 

The  Third  Degree 

Vive  la  Bagatelle! 

Enthusiasm         ...... 

Ballad  of  the  Effeminates     .... 

The  Four  Elements    ..... 

The  Protest  of  the  Illiterate 

Willy  and  the  Lady    ..... 

Ballad  of  the  Hyde  Street  Grip    . 

The  Last  Degree 

Song  for  the  Renaissance  .... 
Over  the  Hills  with  Nancy  .... 
Ballad  of  the  Three  Lovers 


PAGE 

36 

37 
38 

39 

40 

4i 

42 

44 
45 
46 
48 
5° 
5i 
5* 
54 


VIII 


the  GAGE  y  YOUTH 

Youth  9s  in  the  saddle :  hot  play  for  him  ! 

Let  them  make  way  for  him  —  Love,  and  old  Time, 

and  grim  Want! 

Hark  to  his  vaunt :  gaze  at  the  gage  he  has  cast. 
Who'll  win  at  last? 
God  help  him,  what  an  array  for  him  ! 
Tremble  and  pray  for  him!      Youth  cannot  die! 

Hope  gives  her  favour :  he  fights  for  her, 

Long  days  and  nights  for  her,  pinning  her  scarf  to 

his  sleeve  ; 

Sans  let  or  leave,  breaking  the  guard  of  the  foe, 
Gallantly,  so 

Winning  the  tourney's  delights  for  her : 
Jesu,  what  sights  for  her  !      Youth  cannot  die  ! 

Want  keeps  the  lists :  there' s  a  thrust  for  him, 

Hate  and  distrust  for  him  ;  Misery,  Poverty,  Care, 

Let  them  beware  !    Recreant,  foul-hearted  traitor, 

Youth' s  strength  is  greater  ! 

Fiends  of  the  Pit,  how  you  lust  for  him  ! 

Quick,  bite  the  dust  for  him!    Youth  cannot  die  ! 

Time  tries  the  joust :  shall  Youth  flee  for  him, 
Armed  cap-a-pie  for  him  ?    Shudder  at  sight  of  his 

years  ? 

See  bow  he  jeers  !      The  duel  unequal  is  pitted, 
Youth  is  quick-witted  : 

The  shock  of  the  charge  is  rare  glee  for  him  : 
Time,  bend  your  knee  for  him!     Youth  cannot  die  ! 


Lightly  comes  Love :  let^a  glance  at  him, 

Swift  as  a  lance  at  him  !      Memories,  passionate, 

tender, 

Bid  him  surrender :  this  is  a  fight  to  the  death, 
No  time  for  breath! 

Ah,  now  Love  has  lost  her  last  chance  at  him! 
Hope,  look  askance  at  him  !      Youth  cannot  die  ! 


•  OOOOOOOjooooooo  »ooo< 


BALLADE  of  CONCEIT 

To  all  ye  Critics  who  come  to  chill 

And  to  smirch  the  work  of  the  blessed  few, 
Who  feed  on  the  fancy  they  try  to  kill, 

I  snap  my  fingers  —  the  sapless  crew  ! 

What  do  I  care  if  they  bark  and  mew  ? 
This  in  the  teeth  of  the  mouths  that  whine: 

What  have  ye  wrought  ye  can  say  this  to  : 
"  By  Jove,  I  made  it,  and  it  is  mine  !  " 

Never  a  book  that  was  writ  so  ill, 

Never  a  picture  so  false  of  hue, 
Never  a  song  with  so  little  thrill, 

That  it  had  not  something  I  'm  glad  was  true  ! 

What  if  I  fail  ?     I  can  still  pursue 
Joy  of  Creation,  the  gift  divine  ! 

And  he  who  creates  has  at  least  this  view  : 
"  By  Jove,  I  made  it,  and  it  is  mine  !  ' ' 

Thank  God,  who  gave  me  the  wits  and  will, 

And  the  raging  passion  to  put  it  through, 
I  never  saw  task  that  took  so  much  skill 

I  dared  not  try,  and  I  cared  not  do  ! 

My  work  is  crude,  and  a  bit  askew, 
You  're  free  to  condemn  it,  line  by  line, 

But,  bred  of  my  brain,  in  my  heart  it  grew  ; 
"  By  Jove,  I  made  it,  and  it  is  mine  !  " 


ENVOY 

Critics,  your  parasite  life  renew  ! 

Drink  my  conceit,  for  it  flows  like  wine  ; 
Here  is  my  poem,  and  here  is  your  cue  : 

"  By  Jove,  I  made  it,  and  it  is  mine  !  " 


BALLADE  of  the  COGNOSCENTI 

OUT  of  the  silence  some  one  called  my  name  — 

Straight  to  my  side  a  winged  message  flew  — 
Out  of  the  dark  an  unknown  shadow  came, 

And  lo,  we  were  revealed  at  last,  and  knew  ! 

Despite  the  chance  of  time  and  distance,  grew 
The  union,  that  in  mystery  began ; 

This  was  the  sign,  and  in  its  hope  we  two 
Make  ready  for  the  Brotherhood  of  Man. 

So  soul  to  soul  does  boldly  kinship  claim 

For  them  that  know  the  master-word  and  clue  ; 
So  secret  friendship  kindles  into  flame, 

Fired  by  the  spark  that  smoulders,  out  of  view. 

Thus  leaps  the  prophecy  the  sad  world  through  — 
Truth  marches  ever  onward  —  in  her  van 

The  Cognoscenti,  leagued  with  purpose  true, 
Make  ready  for  the  Brotherhood  of  Man. 

Who  wove  this  human  web  upon  the  frame 

Of  the  round  earth,  and  its  great  pattern  drew, 
To  make  the  fabric  of  His  glorious  aim  — 

He  knows  the  warp  and  woof  and  every  hue  ; 

He  knows  the  strands  of  life,  and  how  pursue, 
Appearing,  disappearing,  by  His  plan, 

The  threads  that  knit  the  souls  illumined,  who 
Make  ready  for  the  Brotherhood  of  Man. 


O  Cognoscenti,  by  your  light  subdue 

The  night  of  Ignorance,  and  Error's  ban  ! 

The  Ages'  Promise,  ye,  O  blessed  Few  ; 
Make  ready  for  the  Brotherhood  of  Man  ! 


BALLADE  of  FOG  in  the  CANON 

BANKED  in  a  serried  drift  beside  the  sea, 

Rolling,  wind-harried,  in  a  snowy  spray, 
Majestic  and  mysterious,  swirling  free, 

The  ghostly  flood  is  massing,  cold  and  grey  ; 

Inland  it  marches,  and,  at  close  of  day, 
Pearl-white  and  opal,  sunset-hued  with  rose, 

It  storms  the  ridge,  and  then,  in  brave  array, 
The  fog's  dumb  army  up  the  canon  goes. 

And  now  the  forest  whispers,  tree  to  tree  — 

Their  grim  defense  is  marshalled  for  the  fray  ; 
Pine,  fir,  and  redwood,  standing  cap-a-pie, 

Down  the  long  spurs  and  on  the  hilltops  sway. 

And  now  the  misty  vanguards,  wild  and  gay, 
Ride  down  the  breeze  —  and  now  their  squad- 
rons close, 

And,  sweeping  like  an  ocean  on  its  prey, 
The  fog's  dumb  army  up  the  canon  goes. 

The  trembling  bushes  cower  in  the  lee, 

O'er  the  mad  rout  the  ragged  smoke- wreaths 
play, 

And  scurrying  cloudlets  desperately  flee. 

On  the  low  crests  the  waving  banners  stay, 
Now  lost,  now  conquering,  striving  to  delay 

The  riotous  deluge  —  yet  in  vain  oppose  — 
Height  after  height  is  carried,  and  away 

The  fog's  dumb  army  up  the  canon  goes. 


All  night  the  battle  wages,  weird  and  fey, 

And  gallant  woods  dispute   their   phantom  foes  ; 

But,  conquering,  overwhelming  with  dismay, 
The  fog's  dumb  army  up  the  canon  goes. 


BALLADE  of  the  DEVIL-MAY- 
CARE 

FREE  as  the  wandering  pike  am  I, 

Many  the  strings  to  my  amorous  bow, 
More  than  a  little  inclined  to  fly 

Butterfly  lovering,  to  and  fro  ; 

Happy  wherever  the  flowers  blow, 
With  the  dew  on  the  leaf,  and  the  sunshine  above. 

Terribly  wrong  and  unprincipled  ?     No, 
Life  is  too  short  to  be  "  dead  in  love  !  " 

Not  for  me  is  the  lover's  sigh  ; 

Fools  are  they,  to  be  worrying  so  ! 
Sipping  my  fill  of  the  honey  I  fly 

Butterfly  lovering,  to  and  fro. 

I  skim  the  cream,  and  let  all  else  go  ; 
Gather  my  roses,  and  give  a  shove 

Over  my  shoulder  at  dutiful  woe, — 
Life  is  too  short  to  be  "  dead  in  love  ! ' ' 

So,  while  the  fanciful  hours  go  by, 

I  gayly  reap  what  the  simpletons  sow. 
Fresh  with  their  bloom  are  the  fruits  I  try, 

Butterfly  lovering,  to  and  fro. 

Then  here  's  to  the  lady  who  wears  her  beau 
On  and  off,  like  a  dainty  glove  ! 

And  here  '  s  to  the  zephyrs  that  all- ways  blow — 
Life  is  too  short  to  be  "  dead  in  love  ! ' ' 


ENVOY 


Prince,  who  cares  for  the  coming  snow, 
Butterfly  lovering,  to  and  fro  ? 
Why  should  a  man  be  a  turtle-dove  ? 
Life  is  too  short  to  be  "  dead  in  love  !  " 


BALLADE  of  DREAMS  TRANS- 
POSED 

SOME  may  like  to  be  shut  in  a  cage, 

Cooped  in  a  corner,  tippling  tea, 
Some  may  in  troublesome  toil  engage ; 

But  the  luck  of  a  rover  's  the  life  for  me  ! 

Over  the  mountain  and  over  the  sea, 
Now  in  the  country  and  now  in  the  town  — 

And  when  I  'm  wrinkled  and  withered,  maybe, 
Then  I  '11  marry  and  settle  down. 

Some  may  pore  over  printed  page 

And  never  know  bird,  nor  beast,  nor  tree, 
Watching  the  world  from  a  book  or  stage ; 

But  the  luck  of  a  rover  's  the  life  for  me  ! 

So  ho  !  for  the  forest,  and  ho  !  for  the  lea, 
And  ho  !  for  the  river  and  prairie  brown, 

And  ho  !  for  a  gay  long  jubilee  — 
Then  I  '11  marry  and  settle  down. 

Why  should  I  wait  till  a  grey  old  age 

Brings  me  chance  to  be  rich  and  free  ? 
I  have  no  money  —  it  makes  me  rage, 

But  the  luck  of  a  rover  's  the  life  for  me  ! 

Though  oft,  with  my  lady  upon  my  knee, 
(She  has  frolicsome  eyes  and  a  fetching  gown) 

I  fear,  if  my  heart '  s  to  be  held  in  fee, 
Then  I  '11  marry  and  settle  down. 


Prince,  my  sweetheart  will  not  agree  — 
But  the  luck  of  a  rover  's  the  life  for  me  ! 
She  says  I  must  stay,  and  I  fear  her  frown ; 
Then  I  '11  marry  and  settle  down  ! 


RONDE4U:  Oh,  in  my  DREAMS  I 
FLEW! 

WHY  not,  my  Soul  ?  Why  not  fare  forth,  and  fly 
Free  as  thy  dreams  were  free  !  —  with  them  to  vie  ; 

There  thou  wert  bold  —  thou  knew'st  not  doubt 
nor  fear, 

Thy  will  was  there  thy  deed  —  ah,  why  not  here  ? 
Thou  need'st  but  faith  to  carry  thee  on  high  ! 

A  thousand  things  that  others  dare  not  try  — 
A  thousand  hopes  thy  heart  doth  prophesy  ; 

Thou  knowest  the  master- word,  oh,  speak  it  clear! 
Why  not,  my  Soul  ? 

Let  not  this  world  of  little  things  deny  ; 

Break  thy  frail  bonds,  and  in  those  dreams  rely  ! 

Trust  to  the  counsels  of  that  other  sphere  ; 

Let  that  night's  vision  in  the  day  appear ; 
Walk  forth  upon  the  water — wing  the  sky  ! 
Why  not,  my  Soul  ? 


VIRELAIofthe  WITCHING  SEA 

Ho!  for  the  sea  at  night, 
Shining  in  ghostly  light, 

Ho,  for  the  sea  ! 
Billowed,  and  foam-bedight, 
Moonlit,  all  black  and  white, 

Wanton  is  she  ! 
Heaving  her  bosom  bright, 
Wicked,  and  full  of  might, 

Calling  for  me  ! 

I  am  no  longer  free  — 

Hark,  how  she  shouts  in  glee  ! 

Sirens  sang  so. 
Now,  in  a  sandy  lea, 
Passionate  lovers  we  — 

Reckless  I  grow, 
And,  for  the  hour,  I J 11  be 
Hers,  with  my  soul  in  fee, 

While  her  winds  blow  ! 

Tiger-love  hers,  I  know, 
Fair  friend,  and  subtle  foe. 

Hid  out  of  sight, 
Deep  in  her  caverns  low, 
Lurks  her  reward  of  woe. 

Come  love,  come  spite, 
Into  her  waves  I  go, 
Daring  her  undertow  — 

Ho,  for  the  fight  ! 


VILLANELLE  of  THINGS 
AMUSING 

THESE  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh  ; 

Life  's  a  preposterous  farce,  say  I, 
And  I  Jve  missed  of  too  many  jokes,  by  half! 

The  high-heeled  antics  of  colt  and  calf, 

The  men  who  think  they  can  act  and  try  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh  ! 

The  hard-boiled  poses  of  photograph, 

The  groom  still  wearing  his  wedding  tie  — 
And  I  've  missed  of  too  many  things,  by  half! 

A  maid's  denial,  a  lover's  chaff, 

The  rank  conceit  of  the  new-born  fly  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh  ! 

These  are  the  bubbles  I  gayly  quaff, 

Such  straws  will  tickle  me  till  I  die, 
And  I  've  missed  of  too  many  jokes,  by  half! 

So  write  me  down,  in  my  epitaph, 

As  one  too  fond  of  his  health  to  cry  ; 
These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh, 
And  I  Ve  missed  of  too  many  jokes,  by  half! 


•  oooo  oo  o»  ooooo. 


IO 


•!/% 

cfr» 


VALENTINE  for  my  MOTHER 

MOTHERKIN  mine,  are  you  fond  of  me,  dear  ? 

Do  you  really  and  honestly  love  me,  I  pray  ? 
Throw  me  a  kiss,  for  St.  Valentine  's  here  ! 

Are  you  sorry  I  'm  so  far  away  from  you  here  ? 
Do  you  miss  me  a  little,  on  Valentine's  day? 
Motherkin  mine,  are  you  fond  of  me,  dear? 

Though  it  come  with  a  smile  or  it  come  with  a  tear, 
I  '11  know  what  you  mean  (though  you  '11  try  to 

be  gay),  ^ 
Throw  me  a  kiss,  for  St.  Valentine  's  here  ! 

Ah,  that  one  has  reached  me,  so  be  of  good  cheer  — 
(There's  another  for  you,   that  is  now  on  the 

way) 
Motherkin  mine,  are  you  fond  of  me,  dear  ? 

Ah,  Motherkin,  though  you  '  re  a  woman,  '  t  is  clear 
There  's  one  thing  that  you  can  throw  straight, 

I  must  say  ! 
Throw  me  a  kiss,  for  St.  Valentine  's  here  ! 

Oh,  all  of  the  girls  will  be  jealous,  I  fear  — 

I  '11  none  of  their  kisses,  with  you  I  would  play  \ 
Motherkin  mine,  are  you  fond  of  me,  dear? 
Throw  me  a  kiss,  for  St.  Valentine  's  here  ! 


1 1 


EPITHALAMIUM :  in  a  SURREY 
GARDEN 

THE  day  still  dozes  on,  and  in  the  shade 
The  bushes  nod  in  silence,  half  asleep. 
Across  the  lawn  the  housewife  shadows  creep, 

Till  now,  at  last,  the  evening  bed  is  made. 

The  sunflower  droops,  the  yellow  daisies  fade, 
The  winds,  with  gentle  harpings  low  and  deep, 
The  quivering  branches  of  the  plane  trees  sweep  ; 

The  birds,  besought  to  silence,  have  obeyed. 

Now  looks  the  Moon  across  the  dotted  sky 
To  find  this  quiet  Garden,  dark  and  fair, 
Lying,  a  bridal  maiden,  in  the  night ; 
The  bright-faced  lover  sees  her  from  on  high, 
And  down  he  drops  a  silvery  ladder  there, 

Descends,  and  fills  her  waiting  heart  with  light! 


12 


SONNET: 


On  CHRISTMAS 
TOWN 


THIS  is  the  magic  month  of  all  the  year, 

Holding  the  children's  golden  precious  day 
Of  which,  with  eager  eyes,  we  hear  them  say, 

"In  three  weeks,  two  weeks,  one  week,   'twill  be 
here  !" 

The  sparkling  windows  of  the  shops  appear 
In  fascinating,  wonder-bright  array, 
With  holly  and  with  greens  the  streets  are  gay, 

The  bustling  town  begins  its  Christmas  cheer. 

Now,  secret  plots  are  whispered  in  the  hall, 
Mysterious  parcels  to  the  door  are  brought, 

And  busy  hands  are  half-done  gifts  concealing. 
The  Eve  is  here,  with  lighted  tree  and  all  ! 
And  Santa  Claus,  with  merry  marvels  fraught 
Before  the  dawn,  across  the  roof  comes  stealing  1 


TRIOLET  for  GRACE'S    BIRTH- 
DAY 

NOVEMBER  Fifteen, 

I  know  why  you  're  merry  ! 

You  know  what  I  mean, 

November  Fifteen, 

When  you  come  on  the  scene 
So  jubilant,  very, 

November  Fifteen  — 

I  know  why  you  're  merry  ! 


The  MERRY  MIDNIGHT 

WHEN  I  go  to  bed  at  night, 

Easy  rests  my  tired  head  ; 
Everything  seems  good  and  right  — 

Daytime  worries  all  are  fled. 

Easy  rests  my  tired  head 

In  the  dark  and  silent  room  ; 

Daytime  worries  all  are  fled, 
Joy  is  hidden  in  the  gloom. 

In  the  dark  and  silent  room 

Debonair  romances  wake ; 
Joy  is  hidden  in  the  gloom, 

Foolish  fancies  revel  make. 

Debonair  romances  wake, 

Bashful  thoughts  come  out  to  play, 
Foolish  fancies  revel  make, 

Daring  hopes  take  holiday. 

Bashful  thoughts  come  out  to  play 
When  I  go  to  bed  at  night ; 

Daring  hopes  take  holiday  — 

Everything  seems  good  and  right  ! 


RONDEL  of  PERFECT  FRIEND- 
SHIP 

FRIEND  of  my  soul,  forever  true, 
What  do  we  care  for  flying  years, 
Unburdened  all  by  doubts  or  fears, 

Trusting  what  naught  can  e'er  subdue  ? 

Fate  leads  !     Her  path  is  out  of  view  ; 

Nor  time  nor  distance  interferes  ! 
Friend  of  my  soul,  forever  true, 

What  do  we  care  for  flying  years  ? 

For,  planted  when  the  world  was  new, 
In  other  lives,  in  other  spheres, 
Our  love  to-day  a  bud  appears  — 
Not  yet  the  blossom's  perfect  hue, 
Friend  of  my  soul,  forever  true  ! 


16 


^  DAUGHTER  */  the  NORTH 

Who  wins  my  band  must  do  these  three  things  well: 

Skate  fast  as  Winter  wind  across  the  glare  ; 
Swim   through    the  fiord,  past    breaker,    rip   and 

swell; 

Ride   like   the  Storm  Fiend  on   my  snow -white 
mare  ! 

Shall  a  maid  do  what  Viking  may  not  dare  ? 

I  wed  no  lover  I  can  aught  excel  — 
Skate,  swim,  and  ride  with  me,  and  I  declare, 

Who  wins  my  hand  must  do  these  three  things 
well! 

Bind  on  your  skates,  and  after  me  pell-mell ; 

Follow  me,  carles,  and  catch  my  streaming  hair  ! 
(Keep  the  black  ice, —  O  Bolstrom,  if  you  fell !  ) 

Skate  fast  as  Winter  wind  across  the  glare  ! 

Thrice  have  I  swum  from  this  grey  cliff  to  where, 
On  the  far  side,  the  angry  surges  yell ; 

Into  the  surf!    (O  Bolstrom,  have  a  care  !  ) 

Swim  through  the  fiord,  past  breaker,  rip  and 
swell! 

Bring  out  my  Frieda,  none  but  I  can  quell ; 

(Watch  her  eye,  Bolstrom,  when  you  mount  — 

beware  !  ) 
Ride  bareback  now  and  find  the  master-spell ; 

Ride   like   the   Storm  Fiend  on   my  snow-white 
mare  ! 

Skohl  !  Vikings,  Skohl  !     Am  I  not  bold  and  fair  ? 

Who  would  not  barter  Heaven,  and  venture  Hell, 
Striving  the  flower  of  my  love  to  wear  ? 

(Mind  my  words,  Bolstrom,  hark  to  what  I  tell !) 
Who  wins  my  hand? 


•0000000*0000000 


t^  4* 
&  jfi 


CHANT-ROYAL  of  the  TRUE 
ROMANCE 

ROMANCE  is  dead,  say  some,  and  so,  to-day, 

Honour  and  Chivalry  are  faint  and  cold  ; 
And  now,  Adventure  has  no  modern  way 

To  stir  the  blood,  as  in  the  days  of  old. 
They  mourn  the  times  of  Gallantry  as  done, 
Knighthood  has  seen  the  setting  of  its  sun, 
And  fairy,  nymph  and  genie,  grown  too  shy, 
No  more,  in  these  new  lands,  hold  revel  high  ; 

There  lives  no  mystery,  now,  and  they  cry  woe 
To  this  old  world,  so  twisted  and  awry  ! 

Romance  is  dead,  say  some  ;   but  I  say  No  ! 

Haroun-al-Raschid,  so  the  sceptics  say, 

Would  seek  in  vain  for  sights  his  book  has  told  — 
Crusoe  could  find  no  island  far  away 

Enough,  his  life  with  glamour  to  enfold  — 
Ulysses  now  might  rove,  nor  fear  to  run 
The  risk  of  perils  Homer's  fable  spun  — 
And  Hiawatha's  white  canoe  would  try 
In  vain  to  find  some  beach,  whence  to  descry 

The  hunting-grounds  where  once  he  bent  his  bow. 
Gone  are  the  Halcyon  Days,  they  sadly  sigh  ; 

Romance  is  dead,  say  some  ;   but  I  say  No  ! 

Not  while  the  ancient  sea  casts  up  its  spray 

Upon  the  laughing  beach,  and  I  behold 
The  myriad  dancing  ripples  of  the  bay 

Speed  out  to  meet  the  sunset's  robe  of  gold  ; 
Not  till  the  last  ship's  voyage  has  begun  ; 
Not  till  the  storm  god's  lightnings  cease  to  stun! 
Not  till  the  mountains  lift  no  more  to  sky 
Their  secret  fastnesses,  and  forests  vie 

No  more  with  winds  and  mists,  with  sun  and  snow, 
And  rustling  fields  no  more  to  streams  reply! 

Romance  is  dead,  say  some  ;  but  I  say  No! 


18 


Not  while  the  Night  maintains  her  mystic  sway, 

And  conjures,  in  the  haunted  wood  and  wold, 
Her  eerie  shadows,  fanciful  and  fey, 

With  priests  of  Darkness,  pale  and  sombre-stoled  ; 
Not  while  upon  the  Sea  of  Dreams  are  won 
Strange  ventures,  escapades,  and  frolic  fun  ; 
Where  tricksy  phantoms,  whimsically  sly, 
Order  your  deeds,  you  know  not  how  nor  why  ; 

Where  Reason,  Wit,  and  Conscience  drunken  go. 
Have  you  e'er  dreamed,  and  still  can  question  ?  Fie  ! 

Romance  is  dead,  say  some  ;  but  I  say  No  ! 

Not  while  Youth  lives  and  Springtime  bids  be  gay  ! 

Not  while  love  blooms,  and  lovers  dare  be  bold  ! 
Not  while  a  poet  sings  his  roundelay, 

Or  men  by  maiden's  kisses  are  cajoled  ! 
You  have  not  seen  her,  or  you,  too,  would  shun 
The  thought  that  in  this  world  Romance  there's 

none; 

For  oh,  my  Love  has  power  to  beautify 
My  whole  life  long,  and  all  its  charm  supply  ; 

My  bliss,  my  youth,  my  dreams,  to  her  I  owe  ! 
And  so,  ye  scornful  cynics,  I  deny  ; 

Romance  is  dead,  say  some  ;   but  I  say  No  ! 


ENVOY 

God,  keep  my  youth  and  love  alive,  that  I 
May  wonder  at  this  world  until  I  die  ! 

Let  sea  and  mountain  speak  to  me,  that  so, 
Waking  or  sleeping,  I  may  fight  the  lie ; 

Romance  is  dead,  say  some  ;   but  I  say  No  ! 


i* 


CHANT-ROYAL  */  CALIFORNIA 

ONWARD  the  Nation  marches,  and  in  sight 
Of  this  far  Western  sea,  whose  ripples  glow 

Wide  towards  the  sunset,  with  its  staff  does  smite 
The  rock  of  Hope,  that  golden  streams  may  flow. 

This  is  our  Promised  Land,  beyond  compare 

The  most  prolific  Eden,  rich  and  fair  ! 

Here  may  we  lay  our  hearth-stones,  and  with  glee 

Of  new  possession,  and  with  song,  may  we 
Set  out  the  grape  and  fig,  and  seed-corn  strew. 

Ah,  gallant  husbandmen,  what  soil  have  ye  ! 

This  vintage  shall  the  old  world's  youth  renew  ! 

O  maiden  West  !  What  need  to  re-indite 

Her  beauties  and  her  blessings  —  all  men  know  ! 
The  day  rings  with  her  laughter  of  delight, 

All  of  earth's  good  she  has,  without  the  woe. 
The  joy  of  youth  is  hers  —  a  future  rare 
Is  hers  to  win,  to  foster  and  to  share  ; 
Strong,  reckless,  frank  and  jubilant  is  she, 
Holding  with  thoughtless  hand  her  fortune's  key; 

Yet,  underneath  her  sun  and  heavens  blue 
The  vine  shall  yield,  and  it  shall  come  to  be 

This  vintage  shall  the  old  world's  youth  renew  ! 

Bring  no  old  myths  to  exercise  their  might 

O'er  her  grey  mountains'  grim  defending  row  ; 
Let  the  past  heroes  linger  in  the  night, 

Nor  haunt  her  meadows,  where  wild  flowers  blow  ! 
False  gods  are  all  behind  ;  ah,  leave  them  there  — 
Let  the  new  race  dare  breathe  her  fresher  air  ! 
Tribe  after  tribe  has  lived,  and  left  her  free  ; 
Aztec  and  Indian  hailed  Yosemite, 

Shasta  and  Tamalpais  —  the  Spaniard,  too, 
Passed  with  the  Russ  ;  but  't  was  her  fate's  decree 

This  vintage  shall  the  old  world's  youth  renew  ! 


20 


Then  may  we  garner  nothing  but  the  Right 

The  seeds  of  Error  may  we  never  sow  ! 
The  soil  is  virgin  and  the  sunshine  bright, 

The  glad  warm  rains  shall  teach  the  bud  to  grow. 
Strike  deep  the  furrow  straight  with  forthright  care 
And  gather  all  the  lavish  Seasons  bear ; 
Then  shall  a  Nation  rise,  of  such  degree 
As  never  Argonaut  dared  hope  to  see  ! 

A  thousand  harvests  shall  not  half  subdue 
The  power  of  this  land's  abundant  fee  ; 

This  vintage  shall  the  old  world's  youth  renew  ! 

High  as  her  hills  shall  be  her  honour's  height, 

Deep  as  her  gorges  loyalty  shall  go  ; 
Broad  as  her  plains,  or  as  her  eagle's  flight 

Shall  be  the  Freedom  she  shall  then  bestow. 
This  is  our  field  ;  so  gird  ye,  and  be  yare 
To  conquer  and  to  hold,  to  brave  and  dare 
The  perils  of  her  wealth  —  nor  bow  the  knee 
To  the  dead  laws,  nor  from  live  truths  to  flee  ! 

Thus,  only,  must  we  fare  the  long  years  through, 
If  the  land  fatten  —  and  be  this  our  plea  : 

This  vintage  shall  the  old  world's  youth  renew  ! 


O  Pioneer,  what  task  is  set  for  thee  ! 

Not  thine  to  taste  the  fruit,  but  plant  the  tree  ; 

The  years  of  strife  are  thine  ;  if  thou  art  true, 
Thy  sons'  sorts  shall  enjoy  the  Jubilee  ; 

This  vintage  shall  the  old  world's  youth  renew  ! 


21 


SESTIN4  of  YOUTH  and  AGE 

MY  father  died  when  I  was  all  too  young, 
And  he  too  old,  too  crowded  with  his  care, 
For  me  to  know  he  knew  my  hot  fierce  hopes  ; 
Youth  sees  wide  chasms  between  itself  and  Age  — 
How  could  I  think  he,  too,  had  lived  my  life  ? 
My  dreams  were  all  of  war,  and  his  of  rest. 

And  so  he  sleeps  (please  God),  at  last  at  rest, 
And,  it  may  be,  with  soul  refreshed,  more  young 
Than  when  he  left  me,  for  that  other  life  — 
Free,  for  a  while,  at  least,  from  that  old  Care, 
The  hard,  relentless  torturer  of  his  age, 
That  cooled  his  youth,  and  bridled  all  his  hopes. 

For  now  I  know  he  had  the  longing  hopes, 
The  wild  desires  of  youth,  and  all  the  rest 
Of  my  ambitions,  ere  he  came  to  age  ; 
He,  too,  was  bold,  when  he  was  free  and  young  — 
Had  I  but  known  that  he  could  feel,  and  care  ! 
How  could  I  know  the  secret  of  his  life  ? 

In  my  own  youth  I  see  his  early  life 

So  reckless,  and  so  full  of  flaming  hopes  — 

I  see  him  jubilant,  without  a  care, 

The  days  too  short,  and  grudging  time  for  rest ; 

He  knew  the  wild  delight  of  being  young  — 

Shall  I,  too,  know  the  calmer  joys  of  age? 

His  words  come  back,  to  mind  me  of  that  age 
When,  lovingly,  he  watched  my  broadening  life  — 
And,  dreaming  of  the  days  when  he  was  young, 
Smiled  at  my  joys,  and  shared  my  fears  and  hopes. 
His  words  still  live,  for  in  my  heart  they  rest, 
Too  few  not  to  be  kept  with  jealous  care  ! 


22 


Ah,  little  did  I  know  how  he  could  care  ! 
That,  in  my  youth,  lay  joys  to  comfort  age  ! 
Not  in  this  world,  for  him,  was  granted  rest, 
But  as  he  lived,  in  me,  a  happier  life, 
He  prayed  more  earnestly  to  win  my  hopes 
Than  ever  for  his  own,  when  he  was  young  ! 


ENVOY 


He  once  was  young  ;  I  too  must  fight  with  Care  ; 
He  knew  my  hopes,  and  I  must  share  his  age  ; 
God  grant  my  life  be  worthy,  too,  of  rest  ! 


NEU VAIN  for  APRIL 

I  HAD  forgotten  all  about  the  Spring, 

For  Winter  seemed  not  rude,  when,  in  the  rain, 
I  heard  the  meadow  lark,  mad-mannered,  sing  ! 

The  fields  so  long  in  sober  garb  had  lain, 

I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  Spring, 
When  April  came  and  piped  a  nimble  strain  ! 

She  set  the  orchard  gayly  blossoming  ; 

Her  laughter  woke  the  slumbering  fields  again  ; 
I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  Spring  ! 


HELEN'S   FACE  a  BOOK 

HELEN'S  face  is  like  a  book  — 
Charming,  all  its  pages. 

Helen's  face  is  like  a  book  ; 

What '  s  the  story  I  forsook, 

When  on  Helen's  face  I  look, 
When  her  smile  engages  ? 

There,  I  read  an  old  romance ; 

Here,  I  see  one  living  ! 
There,  I  read  an  old  romance, 
But  in  Helen's  lightest  glance 
Far  a  livelier  tale  enchants, 

Wild  excitement  giving  ! 

What  is  printer's  ink  to  me  ? 

Commas,  dots  and  dashes  ! 
What  is  printer's  ink  to  me, 
If  with  Helen  I  may  be, 
Exclamation  points  to  see 

Underneath  her  lashes  ? 


KARMA 

INTO  his  eyes  there  flashed  a  fire  ; 

Out  of  his  scabbard  leaped  his  blade  — 
Three  strides  across  the  room  he  made  - 

His  heart  beat  hot  with  fierce  desire. 

Cold  is  the  wreck  his  steel  has  wrought, 
While  living  horror  takes  its  stead  ; 
Have  all  these  years  of  calmness  sped 

To  miss  at  last  the  prize  he  sought  ? 


Oh,  blossom  of  that  long-past  life  ! 

Oh,  venom  of  forgotten  sin  ! 

So  nearly  won  !     Again  begin 
The  long,  long  round  of  weary  strife  ! 


The  ISLE  of  IDLENESS 

I  WATCH  the  ships  that  on  the  sea 
Are  sailing,  far  away  from  me, 
While  I,  in  desolate  distress 
Lie  on  the  Isle  of  Idleness. 

They  come  and  go,  too  far  away 
For  me  to  signal.    I  must  stay 
Alone  in  sorrowful  duresse 
Upon  the  Isle  of  Idleness. 

The  radiant  sirens  smile  no  more 
That  lured  me  to  this  barren  shore, 
And  I  must  perish  soon,  unless 
I  leave  this  Isle  of  Idleness. 

So,  be  it  Love  or  be  it  Hate 
Or  be  it  Joy  or  Pain,  I  wait 
The  first  that  comes,  with  eagerness 
To  leave  this  Isle  of  Idleness  ! 


i    HELEN'S    FOOLISHNESS 
not  to  be  CAST   DOWN   by 
MISFORTUNE 

HELEN  says,  "  Oh,  let  's  be  gay, 
Spite  of  threatened  sorrow  ! ' ' 

Helen  makes  a  smile,  to-day, 
Slay  a  tear  to-morrow. 

Helen  says,  "  A  laugh  is  best  !  " 

Sips  the  foam,  and  spills  the  rest  ! 

Helen  is  a  foolish  maid  — 

Though  her  road  is  hilly, 
Helen  never  is  dismayed  ; 

Foolish  —  yes,  and  silly 
Spite  of  all  that  I  can  do  — 
Helen,  make  me  foolish,  too ! 


DEBATABLE  GROUND 


CANNOT  draw  a  map  of  Love,  and  show 
The  ins  and  outs  of  all  that  boundary  line 
Where  Friendship  ends  and  Love  begins  ;  ah,  no  ! 
The  art  's  not  mine. 

For  there  no  lofty  mountain  range  divides, 
No  moated  wall  or  separating  doors  ; 

No  river  flows  between,  whose  opposite  sides 
Are  foreign  shores. 

I  do  not  know,  if,  wandering  rashly  out 
Into  that  charmed,  dangerous  frontier, 

I  may  have  crossed  Love's  outposts,  there,  without 
A  touch  of  fear. 


Some  day,  perhaps,  you  9 II  push  the  chase  too  far 
Within  those  hills,  O  mad  and  reckless  youth. 

And  see  the  enemy  surround  you!     Ah, 
What  then,  forsooth? 


The  BUTTERFLY'S  MADRIGAL 

LovE-for-a-Day,  come  let  's  be  gay  ! 

Love,  for  a  day,  thy  lips  are  smiling  ! 
Love- for-a- Week,  our  bliss  we  '11  seek, 

Love,  for  a  week,  dull  care  beguiling  ! 
Love-for-a-Year,  be  true  my  dear  ! 

Love,  for  a  year  —  and  then  we  '11  sever  ; 
Love  for  a  day  or  year  we  may, 

But  Love  for  aye  —  ah,  never  ! 


'T  WAS  *wr  a  MAN  *»</  ^  MAID 


'  T  WAS  ever  a  man  and  a  maid,  my  son  — 

*T  was  ever  a  man  and  a  maid  ; 
And  't  will  be  that  way  till  the  Judgment  Day, 

And  after  it,  too,  I  'm  afraid  ! 

'T  was  ever  a  man  and  a  maid,  my  son, 

Of  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
With  a  stroll  in  the  Park,  and  a  kiss  in  the  dark 

Of  a  sultry  Summer  moon. 

'T  was  ever  a  man  and  a  maid,  my  son  ; 

As  you  watch  the  crowds  go  by, 
Of  the  folk  that  pass,  there  's  a  youth  and  a  lass 

Wherever  you  pipe  your  eye  ! 

'T  was  ever  a  man  and  a  maid,  my  son, 

All  over  the  world  it  goes, 
And  the  man  from  Mars  may  shy  at  the  cars, 

But  here  is  a  game  he  knows  ! 

'T  was  ever  a  man  and  a  maid,  my  son, 

There  is  Work,  and  there  's  maids  to  woo  — 
And  they  're  quite  two  things,  as  I  know,  who 


And  they  *ve  bowled  down  better  than  you  ! 

'T  was  ever  a  man  and  a  maid,  my  son, 
Watch  out,  or  She  '11  let  you  shirk  ! 

For  a  man  can't  write,  in  the  candle  light, 
If  Her  eyes  get  into  his  work  ! 


/*r  SYLVIA'S  LIPS 

THE  bees  to  Sylvia's  lips  have  flown, 

For  honey  sweet  they  go  ; 
The  flowerets  all  have  jealous  grown 

To  be  neglected  so  ! 

But  Sylvia  has  reproved  the  bees, 
And  sent  them  back  again  — 

The  flowers  are  sweet  enough  for  these  ; 
Her  lips  were  made  for  men  ! 


I   DARE  not  TELL  bow  FAIR 
THOU   ART 

I  DARE  not  tell  how  fair  thou  art, 
And  all  thy  charm  and  grace  ; 

Thy  mirror  can  but  show  thee  part  — 
It  only  gives  thy  face, 
Sweetheart  ! 

I  dare  not  tell  how  fair  thou  art, 
Lest,  knowing,  thou  shouldst  fear 

'T  was  but  thy  beauty  won  my  heart ; 
It  was  not  so,  my  dear 
Sweetheart  ! 

I  dare  not  tell  how  fair  thou  art ; 

Thy  soul  is  fairer,  far, — 
My  love  hath  not  the  subtle  art 

To  paint  that  radiant  star, 
Sweetheart  ! 

Yet  though  my  lips  shall  not  impart, 
Mine  eyes  will  tell  thee  true  — 

I  dare  not  tell  how  fair  thou  art, 
For  I  should  fear  to  woo, 
Sweetheart  ! 


•ooooooofoooooooaooooeoi 


33 


BRAVADO 

LET  not  the  world  so  school  me, 
Sandpaper  me  and  tool  me, 

That  I  shall  lose  the  will  to  say, 
When  women  fondly  fool  me,  — 

" '  T  was  I  that  did  the  choosing, 
The  taking  and  refusing  ; 

I  '11  go  to  Hell  and  count  it  well ; 
The  game  was  worth  the  losing  !  " 


34 


"^  BOY'S   WILL  M  /&   WIND'S 

WILL  au/  the  THOUGHTS  of 

YOUTH  are  LONG,  LONG 

THOUGHTS" 

Would  I  could  drive  the  Chariot  of  the  Day 
In  one  triumphant  charge  from  star  to  star  — 
Flash  the  white  radiance  of  the  Dawn  afar9 

And  wake  this  sleeping  Earth  from  Death's  decay! 

I  know  not  what  I  would  that  I  could  do  ; 

I  hear  a  voice  I  cannot  understand  ; 

My  brain  is  empty,  while  my  willing  hand 
Chafes  at  delay  —  ah,  would  to  God  I  knew  ! 

The  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts,  and 

wild ; 

Between  the  upper  and  the  nether  stone 
Must  I  be  ground,  until  my  soul  has  grown 

Sick  of  the  "wind's  will,"  and  become  His  child? 

His,  curbed  and  tempered  to  a  calmer  strain, 

Filled  with  a  deeper  power  than  I  had  dreamed — 
Must  I  forget  those  hungry  hopes,  that  seemed, 

Mid  storm  and  stress,  to  heed  nor  joy  nor  pain  ? 

God's  will  be  done  !     If  God  be  over  all, 
He  knows  my  young  ambition's  sacrifice  — 
Yet,  though  His  high  displeasure  be  the  price, 

Once  more  I  dare  defy  His  will,  and  call, 

"Would  I  could  drive  the  Chariot  of  the  Day 
In  one  triumphant  charge  from  star  to  star — 
Flash  the  white  radiance  of  the  Dawn  afar. 

And  wake  this  sleeping  Earth  from  Death*  s  decay!  " 


35 


YOUTH'S  LEGACY 

NOT  that  we  shun  the  darkness  or  the  rain, 
Not  that  we  fear  the  hazard  of  the  cold, 

Not  that  we  shrink  from  sorrow  or  from  pain, 
Or  dread  the  bitterness  of  growing  old  ; 

But  while  Spring  flowers,  and  while  the  skies  are 
blue, 

We  hoard  Life's  gladness  for  a   heritage, 
That  Winter's  sunshine  may  the  Spring  renew, 

And  all  Youth's  pleasures  live  to  dower  Age  ! 


CHILDHOOD 

FAIR  as  a  star,  rare  as  a  star, 

The  joys  of  the  future  lie 
To  the  eyes  of  a  child,  to  the  sighs  of  a  child, 

Heavenly  far  and  high  ! 

Fair  as  a  dream,  rare  as  a  dream, 

The  hopes  of  a  future  sure 
To  the  wondering  child,  to  the  blundering  child, 

Trusting,  and  free,  and  pure  ! 

Fair  is  the  soul,  rare  is  the  soul 

Who  has  kept,  after  youth  is  past, 

All  the  art  of  the  child,  all  the  heart  of  the  child, 
Holding  his  faith  at  last  ! 


37 


GAME  of  LIFE 

LET  's  judge  a  man,  not  by  his  tools,  but  toys, 
And  count  him  happy,  when  his  work  employs 
The  playthings  that  his  secret  hour  enjoys. 

Then,  though  he  sport  with  Money,  or  with  Name, 
With  Sword  and  Map,  or  with  a  Pen  and  Fame, 
What  does  it  matter,  if  he  plays  the  Game  ? 


THIRD  DEGREE 

IF  the  Master  cares  to  judge  me  by  the  things  that  I 

have  done, 
There  will  be  no  place  in  Heaven  for  His  foolish, 

erring  son  ; 
If  the  Master's  seen  the  things  that  I  have  wanted 

most  to  do, 
There  '11    be    no  Salvation  for  me,   for  the  Devil 

knows  'em  too  ! 
But  I've  w anted  true  to  want  to  do  the  things  I 

knew  were  right  — 
Say,  can  it  be  the  likes  of  me  '11  have  virtue  in  His 

sight  ? 

I  have  soiled  my  hands  with  mischief,   and  I  've 

wanted  to  do  more, 
And  'twas  but  because  I  didn't  dare,  it  wasn't 

done  before ; 
But  behind  the  dirty  deed  I  did,  behind  the  wish  I 

had, 
There  's  been  a  longing  to  be  straight,  a  feeling  I 

was  bad  ; 
Though  He  alone  has  seen  and  known  beyond  that 

double  sin  — 

He  knows  my  soul  is  somehow  whole  —  say,  will 
He  let  me  in  ? 

If  there  's  any  place  beside  the  Gate  to  live  a  life  or  so, 
I  'd  like  to  try  it  all  again,  before  I  'm  sent  below  ; 
I  'd  like  to  try  to  want  to  do  what 's  right,  and 

then,   maybe, 

I '  d  get  to  try  to  do  it,  and  at  last  I  might  be  free ! 
For  a  full-grown  saint  I  know  I  ain't,  and  there  's 

plenty  more  as  bad, 
But  give  us  time  and  I  know  we '  11  climb  and  make 

His  Heaven  glad  ! 


39 


VIVE  &  BAGATELLE! 

SING    a  song  of  foolishness,    laughing-stocks    anc 

cranks  ! 
The  more  there  are  the  merrier  ;  come  and  join  the 

ranks  ! 

Life  is  dry  and  stupid  ;  whoop  her  up  a  bit  ! 
Donkeys  live  in  clover  ;  bray  and  throw  a  fit  ! 

Take  yourself  in  earnest,  never  stop  to  think, 
Strut  and  swagger  boldly,  dress  in  red-and-pink, 
Prate  of  stuff  and  nonsense,  get  yourself  abused  ; 
Someone  's  got  to  play  the  fool  to  keep  the  crowc 
amused  ! 

Bully  for  the  idiot  !   Bully  for  the  guy  ! 

You  could  be  a  prig  yourself,  if  you  would  only 

try  ! 

Altruistic  asses  keep  the  fun  alive ; 
Clowns  are  growing  scarcer  ;  hurry  and  arrive  ! 

I  seen  a  crazy  critic  a-writin*  of  a  screed  : 

"  Tendencies  ' '    and    < '  Unities  ' '  —  Maeterlinc 

indeed  ! 

He  wore  a  paper  collar,  and  his  tie  was  up  behind 
If  that's  the  test  of  Culture,  then  I'm  glad  I'm 

not  refined  ! 

Let  me  laugh  at  you,  then  you  can  laugh  at  me  ; 
Then  we  '11  josh  together  everything  we  see ; 
Everyone  's  a  nincumpoop  to  another's  view  ; 
Laughter  makes  the  sun  shine  !   ROOP-de-doodle- 
doo  ! 


ENTHUSIASM 

CHILD  of  the  burning  heart, 
Child  of  the  blossoming  soul, 

O  Song  of  Life  and  Art, 

God  keep  you  brave  and  whole  ! 

Failing,  —  still  feel  the  fire  ; 

Winning,  —  still  keep  the  dew  ; 
Striving,  —  still  hear  the  lyre  ; 

This  be  my  prayer  for  you  ! 


BALLAD  of  the  EFFEMINATES 

GOD  made  the  Summer  for  the  hobo  and  the  bum- 
mer chump, 
God  made  the  Winter  for  the  sprinter  and  the 

pug; 

And  the  man  that  likes  it  snowin'  has  a  dam  sight 

better  showin' 

To  be  classified  as  thoroughbred  than  any  other 
mug  ! 

God  makes  the  thunder  for  the  women-folk  to  won- 
der at, 
God  makes  it  lighten  just  to  frighten  who  He 

can  ; 
But  the  kid  's  in  need  o'  nursin'  if  he  's  shocked  at 

honest  cursin', 

I  *d  rather  see  him  tough  as  Hell  than  only  half  a 
man  ! 

Fig-leaf,  loin-cloth,  deer-skin  or  battle-paint, — 
Red,    black,  or   yellow,   he '  s   a   man  although 
he  's  nude ; 

Bird  coat,  dinner  coat,  sack,  frock,  or  cutaway  — 
A  twenty  to  a  nickel  he  is  nothing  but  a  dude  ! 

Milksop,  Willieboy,  sissy,  dandy,  tenderfoot  — 
The  best  of  'em  is  tailor-made,  there's  more 

upon  the  shelves  ; 

Rough,  Tough,  Mucker,  Mick,  Hooligan  or  Bow- 
ery— 

If  there's  any  good  amongst  'em  all,  they  done 
it  all  theirselves ! 


God  forgive  me,  foul-o' -mouth ;   God  forgive  me, 

blasphemous  ! 
The  devil  made  me  hate  a  prig  —  I  'm  glad  he 

done  it  too  ! 
If  they  're  frightened  of  the  storm,  let  'em  come  in 

where  it 's  warm  ; 

A-holdin'  hands  and  kissin'  is  the  work  for  them 
to  do  ! 


43 


FOUR    ELEMENTS 


FIRE  o*  the  Blood,  that  was  lit  by  a  kiss, 
Wine  o'  the  Brain,  that  has  drugged  me  with  bliss, 
Wind  o'  the  Soul,  that  has  blown  me  so  far, 
Dust  o*  the  Body,  that  glows  like  a  star. 

Love,  in  your  Alchemy  bravely  I  trust, 

For  the  Wine  quenches  Fire,  and  the  Wind  scatters 

Dust! 

Take  me  and  make  me  !     For  when  you  inspire, 
The  Wine  quickens  Dust,  and  the  Wind  fans  the 

Fire! 


44 


ILLITERATE 

I  SEEN  a  dunce  of  a  poet  once,  a-writin*  a  little  book  ; 
And  he  says  to  me  with  a  smile,  says  he,  "  Here  's 

a  pome  —  d'  you  want  to  look  ?  " 
And  I  threw  me  eye  at  the  pome  ;  says  I,  "What 's 

the  use  o'  this  here  rot  ? ' ' 
"It's  a  double  sestine,"   says  he,  lookin'  mean, 

"  and  they  're  hard  as  the  deuce,  that 's  what  !  " 

<  <  There  '  s  blood  in  your  ink-well  —  I  don' t  think  ! ' ' 

says  I,  beginnin'  to  preach  ; 
"  Oh,  there  aint  much  force,"  he  says,  "  'o  course  ! 

but  there  's  plenty  of  riggers  o'  speech  !  " 
"  Why  write  about  maids  and  violet  shades  ?"  says  I. 

"  Wot 's  the  matter  with  MEN  ?  " 
"  That  fad  's  played  out,"  he  says  with  a  pout, "and 

BEAUTY  's  come  in  again  !  " 

"Did  ever  you  go  out  into  the  snow?"  I  says, 

"or  feel  like  a  fight? 
Did  you  read  in  your  books  how  the  sunrise  looks, 

or  did  you  learn  o'  the  night  ? 
Your  bloomin'  <  flowers  '  they  rhyme  with  <  bowers, ' 

but  they  smell  o'  the  hot-house  blend. 
Wot  's  love  and  kisses  and  such-like  blisses  ?   Good 

God  !  had  ye  never  a  FRIEND  ? 

"There's  more  than  enough  that  can  write  the 

stuff  that  the  women  like  to  read  ; 
They  '11  mark  a  line  that  they  think  is  fine,  if  that 

is  the  praise  you  need  ! 
But  show  me  a  verse  that 's  a  blame  sight  worse,  if 

it  has  but  an  honest  look, 
And  the  pages  are  worn  and  thumbed  and  torn — I  '11 

believe  you  've  written  a  BOOK  ! " 


gOOOOOOOJ  000000  0»000oe000fi  00  000000  g 


45 


WILLY  and  the  LADY 

LEAVE  the  lady,  Willy,  let  the  racket  rip, 
She  is  going  to  fool  you,  you  have  lost  your  grip, 
Your  brain  is  in  a  muddle  and  your  heart  is  in  a  whirl, 
Come  along  with  me,  Willy,  never  mind  the  girl  ! 

Come  and  have  a  Man-Talk, 
Come  with  those  who  can  talk, 
Light  your  pipe  and  listen,  and  the  boys  will  see 

you  through  ; 
Love  is  only  chatter, 
Friends  are  all  that  matter, 

Come  and  talk  the  Man-Talk,  that 's  the  cure  for 
you  ! 

Leave  the  lady,  Willy,  let  her  letter  wait, 

You  '11  forget  your  troubles  when  you  get  it  straight, 

The  world  is  full  of  women,  and  the  women  full  of 

wile  ; 
Come  along  with  me,  Willy,  we  can  make  you  smile  ! 

Come  and  have  a  Man-Talk, 

A  rousing  black-and-tan  talk, 

There  are  plenty  there  to  teach  you,  there's  a  lot 

for  you  to  do  ; 

Your  head  must  stop  its  whirling 
Before  you  go  a-girling, 

Come  and  talk  the  Man-Talk,  that's  the  cure  for 
you  ! 

Leave  the  lady,  Willy,  the  night  is  good  and  long, 
Time  for  beer  and  'baccy,  time  to  have  a  song ; 
Where  the  smoke  is  swirling,  sorrow  if  you  can  — 
Come  along  with  me,  Willy,  come  and  be  a  man  ! 


46 


Come  and  have  a  Man-Talk, 

Come  and  hear  the  clan  talk, 

We  've  all  of  us  been  there  before,  and  jolly  glad 

it 's  through  ! 

We  '11  advise  you  confidently, 
And  we'll  break  it  to  you  gently, 
Come  and  talk  the  Man- Talk,  that 's  the  cure  for 
you  ! 

Leave  the  lady,  Willy,  you  are  rather  young ; 
When  the  tales  are  over,  when  the  songs  are  sung, 
When  the  men  have  made  you,  try  the  girl  again  ; 
Come  along  with  me,  Willy,  you  '11  be  better  then  ! 

Come  and  have  a  Man-Talk, 
Forget  your  girl-divan  talk, 
You  've  got  to  get  acquainted  with  another  point  of 

view  ! 

Girls  will  only  fool  you, 
We  're  the  ones  to  school  you, 
Come  and  talk  the  Man-Talk,  that 's  the  cure  for 
you  ! 


47 


BALLAD  of  the  HYDE  STREET 
GRIP 

A  San  Francisco  Rhapsody 

OH,  the  rain  is  slanting  sharply,  and  the  Norther's 

blowing  cold, 
When  the  cable  strands  are  loosened,  she  is  nasty 

hard  to  hold  ; 
There  's  little  time  for  sitting  down  and  little  time 

for  gab, 
For  the  bumper  guards  the  crossing,  and  you  'd  best 

be  keeping  tab  ! 

Two-and-twenty  ''let-go's"  every  double  trip  — 
It  takes  a  bit  of  doing,  on  the  Hyde  Street  Grip  ! 

Throw  her  off  at  Powell  Street,  let  her  go  at  Post, 
Watch  her  well  at  Geary  and  at  Sutter,  when  you 

coast, 

Easy  at  the  Power  House,  have  a  care  at  Clay, 
Sacramento,  Washington,  Jackson,  all  the  way  ! 
Drop  the  rope  at  Union,  never  make  a  slip  — 
The  lever  keeps  you  busy,  on  the  Hyde  Street  Grip  ! 

Foot-brake,  wheel-brake,  slot-brake  and  gong, 
You  've  got  to  keep  'em  working,  or  you  '11  soon  be 

going  wrong  ! 

Rush  her  on  the  crossing,  catch  her  on  the  rise, 
Easy  round  the  corners,  when  the  dust  is  in  your 

eyes  ! 
And  the  bell  will  always  stop  you,  if  you  hit  her  up 

a  clip  — 
You  are  apt  to  earn  your  wages,  on  the  Hyde  Street 

Grip! 


1OOOOOO,0«OC 00000  » 00000 


48 


North  Beach  to  Tenderloin,  over  Russian  Hill, 
The  grades  are  something  giddy,  and  the  curves  are 

fit  to  kill  ! 

All  the  way  to  Market  Street,  climbing  up  the  slope, 
Down  upon  the  other  side,  hanging  to  the  rope  ; 
But  the  sight   of  San  Francisco,   as  you  take  the 

lurching  dip  ! 
There  is  plenty  of  excitement,  on  the  Hyde  Street 

Grip  ! 

Oh,  the  lights  are  in  the  Mission,   and  the  ships 

are  in  the  Bay  ; 
And  Tamalpais  is  looming  from  the  Gate,  across 

the  way  ; 
The  Presidio  trees  are  waving,   and  the  hills  are 

growing  brown, 
And  the  driving  fog  is  harried  from  the  Ocean  to 

the  town  ! 
How  the  pulleys  slap  and  rattle  !      How  the  cables 

hum  and  whip  ! 
Oh,  they  sing  a  gallant  chorus,  on  the  Hyde  Street 

Grip  ! 

When  the  Orpheum  is  closing,  and  the  crowd  is  on 
the  way, 

The  conductor's  punch  is  ringing,  and  the  dummy  's 
light  and  gay  ; 

But  the  wait  upon  the  table  by  the  Beach  is  dark 
and  still  — 

Just  the  swashing  of  the  surges  on  the  shore  below 
the  mill  ; 

And  the  flash  of  Angel  Island  breaks  across  the  chan- 
nel rip, 

As  the  hush  of  midnight  falls  upon  the  Hyde  Street 
Grip  ! 


49 


The  LAST    DEGREE 

WE  parted,  and  we  cried,  "  Success  !  " 

What  did  it  mean  ?     We  did  not  know. 

There  was  the  Course  we  could  not  guess 

In  Life's  Curriculum,  unless 

What  we  had  learned  might  show. 

What  had  we  learned  ?     To  act  like  men, 
To  love  and  fight,  to  laugh  and  sweat  ! 

Ah,  there  were  other  lessons  then, 

Besides  pure  Science,  in  our  ken, 

We  learned  to  live  !     And  yet, 

When  the  Terms  close  for  you  and  me, 

And  Life's  Examinations  end, 
One  Question  only  shall  there  be 
Before  we  take  our  last  Degree  :  — 

What  does  it  mean  —  '< a  Friend"  ? 


5° 


SONG  for  the  RENAISSANCE 

HERE  's  to  the  Cause,  and  the  blood  that  feeds  it  ! 

Here  's  to  the  Cause,  and  the  soul  that  speeds  it  ! 

Coward  or  hero  or  bigot  or  sage, 

All  shall  take  part  in  the  war  that  we  wage ; 

And    though    'neath   our    banners   range    contrary 

manners, 
Shall  we  pick,  shall  we  choose,  'twixt  the  false 

and  the  true? 
Not  for  us  to  deny  them  !    Let  the  Cause  take  and 

try  them  ! 
The  one  man  for  us  is  the  man  that  shall  do  ! 

Here  's  to  the  Cause,  let  who  will  get  the  glory  ! 
Here  's  to  the  Cause,  and  a  fig  for  the  story  ! 
The  braggarts  may  tell  it,  who  serve  but  for  fame; 
There  '11  be  more  than  enough  that  will  die  for 

the  Name  ! 
And  though,  in  some  eddy,  our  vessels  unsteady 

Be  stranded  and  wrecked,  ere  the  victory  's  won, 
Let  the  current  sweep  by  us  !    O  Death,  come  and 

try  us  ! 

What  if  laggards  win  praise,  if  the  Cause  shall 
go  on  ? 

Here  's  to  the  Cause,  and  the  years  that  have  passed  ! 
Here  's  to  the  Cause  —  it  will  triumph  at  last  ! 
The  end  shall  illumine  the  hearts  that  have  braved 
All  the  years  and  the  fears,  that  the  Cause  might 

be  saved. 
And  though  what  we  hoped  for,  and  darkly  have 

groped  for, 

Come  not  in  the  manner  we  prayed  that  it  should, 
We  shall  gladly  confess  it,  and  the  Cause,  may  God 

bless  it, 
Shall  find  us  all  worthy,  who  did  what  we  could  ! 


the  HILLS  w/VA  NANCY 


SHE  has  tightened  her  cinch  by  another  inch, 
She  has  shortened  her  stirrup  strap, 

She  is  off  with  a  whirl  of  horse  and  girl, 
And  I  am  a  lucky  chap  ! 

With  a  "  Catch  if  you  can  !      I  'm  as  good  as  a 
man!" 

At  a  breakneck  pace  we  ride  ; 
I  have  all  but  placed  my  arm  round  her  waist, 

As  we  gallop  side  by  side, 

When,  "Roop  Ki-yi!  !  "  and  her  elbows  high, 

She  spurts  in  the  cow-boy  style  ; 
With  a  jerk  and  a  saw  at  her  horse's  jaw, 

She  's  ahead  for  another  mile. 

And  it's  Nancy's  dust  that  breathe  I  must, 

And  it  's  Nancy's  trail  I  follow, 
Till  I  leave  the  rut  for  a  steep  short  cut, 

And  I  've  caught  her,  down  in  the  hollow  ! 

Then  into  the  creek,  with  a  splash  and  a  shriek, 

To  her  saddle  girth  she  dares  ; 
"Oh,   make  for  the    shoal,   or  he'll  stop  and 
roll  !" 

But  it  's  little  that  Nancy  cares  ! 

All  up  the  hill  she  's  ahead  of  me  still, 

And  over  the  ridge  we  go, 
And  my  steaming  nag  has  begun  to  lag, 

But  it  isn't  my  fault,  I  know  ! 


Oh,  fair  astride  does  Nancy  ride, 

And  her  spur  she  uses  free, 
And  it '  s  little  she  cares  for  the  gown  she  wears, 

And  it 's  little  she  cares  for  me  ! 

But  the  strawberry  roan  with  the  sharp  backbone 

That  Nancy  rode  that  day, 
He  does  n't  forget  that  Saturday  yet, 

When  Nancy  led  the  way  ! 


53 


BALLAD  of  the  THREE  LOVERS 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve ;  in  the  castle  hall 
The  Yule  log  burned  with  a  merry  flare, 

Holly  and  mistletoe  decked  the  wall, 
Waxen  candles  gleamed  everywhere. 

The  Lady  Alys  was  fair  and  gay, 

She  bided  a  trial  that  she  had  planned  ; 

She  had  sworn  to  answer,  on  Christmas  Day, 
Which  of  her  lovers  should  have  her  hand. 

The  Lady  Alys  had  lovers  three  : 

Pale  St.  Denys,  with  scholard  air, 
Wild  Lord  Dammit,  a  coxcomb,  he, 

And  young  Sir  Guy  de  la  Tour  Bellaire. 

The  Lady  Alys  was  loth  to  choose  ; 

Raoul  St.  Denys  was  clerkly  wise, 
Yet  who  could  the  rich  Lord  Dammit  refuse  ? 

But,  oh,  Sir  Guy,  with  the  hazel  eyes  ! 

The  Lady  Alys  she  sate  apart 

Under  the  antlers,  mistletoe-decked  ; 

She  waited  and  watched  with  a  beating  heart  — 
Which  of  her  lovers  did  she  expect  ? 

So  entered  St.  Denys,  and  found  her  there ; 

He  dropped  him  down  on  his  silken  knee  ; 
It  was,  « '  O  my  Lady,  but  thou  art  fair  ! ' ' 

It  was,  <  <  Oh,  I  would  die  for  the  love  of  thee  !  " 

But  the  Lady  Alys,  she  sent  him  back, 

And    she   smiled   at   the    mistletoe,    answering, 
"  Nay  !  " 

Of  laggard  lovers  she  had  no  lack, 

Her  heart  must  be  won  in  another  way  ! 


t 


Lord  Dammit,  he  entered  his  luck  to  try, 
She  sate  demure,  and  she  did  not  stir  ; 

He  boldly  kissed  her,  ere  she  could  fly, 
He  swore  he  lived  but  for  love  of  her  ! 

But  the  Lady  Alys  did  him  refuse, 

For  there  was  another  to  come,  she  knew, 

One  more  lover  to  pick  and  choose  — 
What  if  he  bungled  his  courtship,  too  ! 

She  waited  Sir  Guy  de  la  Tour  Bellaire, 
Nor  waited  long,  for  he  came  and  cried, 

"  O  Alys,  come  out  of  your  corner  there, 
For  your  mistletoe-kiss  I  cannot  abide  ! 

"  If  I  kiss  you  not  of  your  own  free  will, 
If  my  heart  win  not,  maugre  let  or  leave, 

What  do  I  care  for  your  kisses  chill  — 
The  licensed  kisses  of  Christmas  Eve  !  " 

Then  the  Lady  Alys  she  left  her  place, 
And  she  folded  her  fingers  his  neck  around 

She  lifted  her  lips  to  his  gallant  face  — 
The  Lady  Alys  her  love  had  found  ! 


55 


This  First  Edition  of  A  GAGE  of 
YOUTH  by  GELETT  BURGESS 
was  printed  in  AUGUST  1901  for 
SMALL  MAYNARD&? COMPANY 
at  the  EVERETT  PRESS  Boston  U.S.4 


